Man of La Middleton
by Rye-bread
Summary: A goofy freckled blonde and his toothy pink sidekick battle evil in the name of a beautiful redheaded greeneyed lady.  Sound familiar?  Not this time.
1. Chapter 1

Based on "Don Quixote" by Miguel de Cervantes and "Man Of La Mancha" by Dale Wasserman. What direction will it go? I have no idea.

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**MAN OF LA MIDDLETON **

Two shabby men traveled the dusty road under the bright sun.

One rode a shabby mule. He was short and dressed in rough brown homespun. His face was bright pink and his two front teeth protruded noticeably.

The other rode a shabby horse. He was tall, gangly, and dressed moth-eaten leather and rusty armor, a pitted helmet on his head. His blonde beard was windblown, his cheeks were freckled, and he sang lustily.

"Hear me now, oh thou trampled and ignoble town, thou art flat as a piece of old bread,

And a knight who will bravely cast his gauntlet down shall now bring thee back from the dead,

I am I, Don Ronaldo, the Stoppable's eldest..."

The other interrupted. "Don Ronaldo," he asked wearily, "Tell me once again why we are riding during the siesta."

"Why, Rufio, my brave squire, what other time is there, that we may catch evil napping and engage in bold battle?"

"Perhaps in the cool of the evening, after we ourselves have rested and eaten?"

Don Ronaldo laughed heartily. "Nay, faithful servant, what are weariness and hunger to two rugged warriors like ourselves?"

Ruifo shrugged. "Well, if not to ourselves, how about to these two poor nags we're riding.? My Buyado could do with a chew of grain and a sip of water."

"Ah, old friend, thou dost speak wisely. Even the dumb animals should be recipients of our courtesy. Look, yonder are some trees for shade and stream for drink. What say you, my noble steed Bondigitado, shall we rest awhile?"

The fleabitten old horse only grunted.

"Well, then, thou hast earned thy rest for bearing us so regally on our journey thus far."

The two dismounted and let their animals graze in the grass while they sat leaning against a tree trunk. Don Ronaldo took off his helmet and sighed. "Ah, Rufio, does it not fill thy heart with gladness that we are honored to serve our Noble Lady and ride on the glorious Quest?"

Rufio shook his head. "Master, we can't serve St. Mary; you're Jewish and I haven't been to confession for months."

"Hah, a clever jest, my shrewd but unlearned manservant. "'Tis not to the Mother of the Christ I refer, though I honor Her, as all women should be honored and esteemed by men of chivalry like ourselves." Don Ronaldo grew quiet and gazed at the distant sky. "No, the One of Whom I speak is My Lady, She Who has won my poor heart, She of Whom I strive to be worthy: the Lady Kimberlinea. I have never laid eyes upon Her, but I know Her as though She dwelt beside me. Her hair is as radiant as yonder sun, and her shimmering eyes are as green and as restful as the leaves of this tree under which we recline. Her smile is sparkling as the waters of this stream, and her heart is as vast as the sky under which we journey. She is the embodiment of all goodness. Her beauty is righteousness made visible."

**To be continued? **


	2. Chapter 2

Like my fellow K.P. fanfic author, CaptainKodak, I do some research and strive for some authenticity in my stories--hence the Spanish and Spanish-ized names. "Possible" is spelled "Posible" and pronounced "po-SEE-blay" in Spanish. What did medieval Spanish taverns really look like? Dunno. I watched "Man of La Mancha", both the movie (with Peter O'Toole) and the play (several times: with Ed Ames, Robert Goulet, and Jack Jones in the lead role.)

Depression blows. Shortage of money blows. Not being able to even finish my fanfiction blows. "Say Something Ron", "The Girl in the Box", "The Seven Kisses"--all stalled out. Completely.

But then the Muse kicked in and I turned out chpt. 2 of this little tale I began a couple years ago.

The chpt. is based on K.P.-StD. The sadness is not accidental. I have plans for Don Ronaldo of La MIddleton.

_**MAN OF LA MIDDLETON **_

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

Stefano Barkindo yawned, stretched, ran his hand through his close cropped hair, and rubbed his bleary eyes. It was another day in the Tavern Buenos Nachos. He unlatched the door, put on his apron, arranged the stools around the tables, and began wiping the serving counter with a rag.

The door opened and in came a man dressed in a simple monk's robe, rope belt, and sandals

Stefano Barkindo looked up and his face lit up. "Dr. Posible! Good morning, sir!"

The other man's face lit up. "Stefano, my friend; like you, my days as a scholar are done."

"Padre Santiago, then."

He laughed. "You honor me too much. You know I am only Brother Jaime, a simple friar."

He shrugged. "As I am a simple bartender. I do not forget that you were once a Professor at La Univeridad de Madrid, the most learned mathematician and scientist in Spain, honored by the King himself."

"As you were once the tutor for my children, and all the children in La Middleton."

Stefano fell pensive. "Well--things change."

"Yes, God knows."

"Will you have your usual, Brother Jaime?"

"Yes, Stefano; a small loaf of your wife's delicious black bread, and a small cup of your matchless red wine. Will you this once allow me to pay for my meal, my friend?"

"As usual, no. But I would be very obliged if you would pronounce your usual blessing over my humble tavern."

"So be it." Brother Jaime Posible raised his right hand. "May the Angels of Heaven camp upon your roof. May the Saints lift up your name in intercession before Our Lord's Throne. May Our Lady, the Blessed Mother, continue to sweeten your wife's goodwill toward you. May your beer, your wine, and your mead be distilled from the barley, the grapes, and the nectar from Heaven. May the nobility of Madrid once day serve your customers, and the Royal Family one day dine at your tavern."

Stefano crossed himself, bowed his head, and said "Amen." He then set before Brother Jaime a small earthenware platter with the black bread and the earthenware cup of wine

Brother Jaime broke the bread, and took a bite. And a sup of the wine. He nodded. "Delicious."

"So, Brother Jaime, you have made your usual morning visit to the cemetery?"

"Yes, Stefano. Gone again to see my wife and daughter." Brother Jaime smiled sadly. "I miss them both--more than I can say. But I rejoice that they are with the saints and angels, before the Throne of Our Lord.

As always, the flowers bloom around their headstones, even in the dry season, as many months as it is past spring."

Stefano crossed himself again. "Surely it is a miracle--a daily reminder of how blessed we were to have them among us for the brief years of their lives--and the goodness that they wrought for us all outlives them."

Brother Jaime Posible nodded. "My wife had the Hand of God upon her. Her touch was like the healing touch of Christ. I have lost count of the number of people she restored to health whom even the court physicians of Madrid had given up on. And my daughter had the courage of a lion, and the fighting prowess of a troupe of soldiers."

Stefano poured a little more wine into Brother Jaime's cup. "It was the Hand of God that guided them both on the night of the celebration at the Universidad. The feasting and the dancing. I remember it well."

Brother Jaime gazed off into the distance. "Ah, my friend Stefano, if only I could turn the clock back. What a fool I was. I was so proud of Kimberlinea and her young man. I believed he had a great future as a scholar. I was hopeful that he could persuade my daughter to be content to manage a household instead of the dangerous 'missiones' that she insisted on performing."

"Very dangerous they were," said Stefano.

"But very helpful they were to many people," said Jaime. "My daughter and her friend Ronaldo saved many lives, at great risk to themselves. I regret a thousand times that I did not permit him to court Kimberinea instead of Erik."

"Who knew he was a traitor and a saboteur," asked Stefano. "Or that he was employed by your old colleague and your daughter's great enemy, Dr. Drakkando?"

"It was a plan from Hell," said Jaime. "That twisted man built children's' toys, wooden figurines, that were actually bombs--armed with a watchmaker's device to explode at midnight. Imagine the death he would have caused if his plan had succeeded."

"Dr. Drakkando was a clever as Satan," said Stefano. "He used his lovely but demonic assistant Shegoya to distribute the toys among the merchants of both cities and town all over the nation."

"In an effort to topple the government and become King," said Jaime wearily. "And Erik dazzled us all. Kimberlinea was hopelessly in love. Her sense of caution was dulled. Only Ronaldo suspected the true plan. 'The toys are evil! The toys are evil!' he went about saying."

"And no one believed him," said Stefano, sadly. "Not you. Not me. Not the magistrates. Not even Kimberlinea."

"I was a fool," said Jaime bitterly. "I believed him a simple lad--him with his love for cheese and his talent for cooking, and his pet the little bucktoothed rodent who he believes talks to him."

"Did not Ronaldo name the creature 'Rufio'?" asked Stefano.

"Yes," said Jaime. "But I feared that I had no respect for the boy. And too late I learned that he was the wisest of us all. He saw with a heart of love. All he did was for the love of my daughter."

"We were fortunate, my friend," said Stefano. "Spain was fortunate. Ronaldo brought us to our senses in time. He and Kimberlinea foiled Drakkando's plan."

"But the terrible price we paid," said Jaime angrily. "Drakkando and Shegoya perished when the sumptuous inn--the Buenos Nachos of Madrid--blew up with a great cache of the damnable toys inside. Good riddance to them! But my daughter--fatally wounded in the battle with Erik--" Jaime stopped for a moment and covered his eyes with his hand. "God forgive me. I am now a servant of Holy Mother Church. I should not rail at a dead enemy."

Stefano put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "You are also a father, my friend. And a husband. You lost a daughter who was worth more than all of us."

"And my wife died of grief," said Jaime, in a broken voice. "And that worthy young man Ronaldo--who is not of our Holy Catholic Faith--who was a poor student--lost his mind."

"I remember," said Stefano in a quiet voice. "I was helping the soldiers defeat the Drakkando's henchmen. We thought our victory won. The smoke cleared. I saw. Ronaldo cradling Kimberlinea. He pleaded with her to live, so that they could marry. He said he would beseech her father day and night, until he won her hand. He said he would even convert to Christianity. She smiled and reached up to him. And then your daughter died in his arms."

"His wails of torment," said Jaime in a quiet voice. "They were heard all over the city. Mad with grief. He begged God to bring her back to life. And then he ran from the city--into the wilderness. And when he returned, his mind had left him. Dressed in decrepit old armor, he was. With two horses--one for himself, one for his little pet Rufio--who was now his squire."

"--Calling himself Don Ronaldo--singing songs to himself of his Lady Kimberlinea.

**to be continued**


End file.
